


want some of your love

by vroomvroommic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Laundry day, M/M, Misunderstandings, laundry at 2 am in humid record breaking summers, osamu's betting pool, pre-med atsumu, volleyball player and communications major bokuto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vroomvroommic/pseuds/vroomvroommic
Summary: Atsumu could be home in Hyogo with his family, but the traitors have left him behind in favor of the Taiwanese sun. Instead, he gets stuck doing laundry on campus at two in the morning because it's the only time it doesn't feel like he's living in Satan's asshole.He may or may not be moping.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51
Collections: Haikyuu!!





	want some of your love

**Author's Note:**

> I said I wasn't writing anymore but now im plotting space boyfriends bokuatsu. anyway here's something to keep y'all fed.
> 
> [title from steve lacy's some](https://youtu.be/KTh8ermjdbI)

Even if the electric fan on top of the folding counter is working overtime, the Kansai summer heat continues to make sweat roll off Atsumu’s body. His biceps have been clammy and a slightly irritated red all afternoon ever since he got out of the shower, but now the heat coming from the cycling washers adds to his maddening state. Even at two in the morning, the humidity in the laundry room’s air is ruthless.

“Agh!” Atsumu explodes, dropping his dirty laundry bin on the floor, erratically running his fingers through his short hair. They get caught at his split ends, the burst of pain too much and he clenches his teeth too hard. “I’ve had it with this fuckin’ heat!”

Finals week had kicked his ass and Atsumu still dreaded looking through his finalized course grades. He’d slept for twenty-six hours straight after his last exam just a few days ago, only to realize that he couldn’t immediately go back to Himeji. An image of Osamu and his family lounging underneath the Taiwanese sun brings his blood to a boil. Other university students had long fled campus as soon as exams were over, as apparent by the empty washers, so at least he’d lucked out on that.

With a small grunt, Atsumu picks up the laundry basket he’d dropped in his fit of anger and moves towards an unoccupied washer. When he was younger, his mother had urged both he and Osamu to always make a third washer for whites. Atsumu’s in his last year of college now, there’s no way he’s going to give his college even more money and pay for a third washer. He grabs his favorite hoodie—the green Golf Wang one Osamu’d given him freshman year—only to find a sea of white hair on the piece of clothing. With a frown, Atsumu begins plucking the strands of Yori’s hair, proving the action futile.

“Are ya kiddin’ me?” Atsumu says aloud, but there’s still no one around. It’s only two hours into today, but it’s proving to already be one of the worst days in Atsumu’s life. “Why does Omi’s fuckin’ dog shed this much?” An image of Sakusa’s deadpan face while running his fingers through his Maltese’s fur settles next to the one of Osamu in Singapore. Atsumu seethes, brain cursing Sakusa’s cousin who’d brought Yori to help Sakusa move out for the summer.

(He doesn’t curse himself for playing with the Maltese the entire time until Sakusa’d closed their dorm door behind him. It’s Sakusa’s fault for having such a cute dog, unlike Sakusa’s shitty personality.)

Atsumu weighs his options: he only lives on the second floor, so he can make the effort to trek up the stairs to grab Sakusa’s lint roller. Except, he’s not sure if Sakusa’s even left it back at their dorm room or if he’s taken it back to Tokyo with him. If Atsumu’s memory is better at remembering things about his roommate than it is remembering Ochem reactions, then it’s also unfortunate that he remembers Sakusa’s lint roller was beginning to wear out and—

“Tsum-tsum?” Atsumu registers tapping on his shoulder after the booming voice reverberates in his ears.

People shouldn't smile that wide this early in the morning. It’s Bokuto, and although the smile plastered on his face is large, Atsumu knows better than to think it’s genuine. Dread licks at the pit of his stomach, Atsumu’s eyes looking away from the man. He’s far too guilty for this sudden confrontation. “Looks like you needed this,” Bokuto says, placing his own dirty laundry on the floor before extending his toned arm and holding a red lint roller of his own. It looks new. “You can use it, if you want.”

Atsumu braves a look at his best friend before him—and fuck, they’re best friends right?—Bokuto’s eye-bags catching Atsumu’s attention. It seems finals and volleyball got to him, too. Bokuto’s standing just underneath one of the lights in the room, his usually eccentric hair now flat against his forehead most likely from the humidity. Atsumu swallows whatever’s lodged in his throat and snaps out of his reverie, reaching for the lint roller instead. Even the humidity pales in comparison to the suffocation coming from the sudden tension between them.

“Thanks...” Atsumu responds, taking a few steps back to put some space between them until his lower back hits the row of washers. Looking behind him, Atsumu sits on top of one, back hunched over and feet dangling with Golf Wang hoodie resting in his lap. In an attempt to avoid confronting Bokuto, he rips open the first sticky sheet and begins rolling it against the hoodie’s fabric.

“I figured ya’d already left back to Tokyo. Whatcha still doin’ here?” Atsumu asks, trying to fill the silence as he cleans his hoodie as quickly as possible without raising suspicion.

Atsumu doesn’t see it, only hears it, but Bokuto’s closing the distance between them and towering over him as he comes to a stop between the washer and Atsumu’s legs. His grip on the lint roller falters, the contraption coming to rest on his hoodie.

“Tsum-tsum, why have you been ignoring me?” It sounds a bit strained, exhausted even, sounds like the rainy days that wouldn’t let him and Osamu go out and play with the neighborhood kids.

Slowly, as slowly as he can really manage without losing all motor function, Atsumu looks up and meet’s Bokuto’s hurt eyes. Atsumu hates it because he really thought he’d have all summer to make amends for his mistake, for kissing Bokuto at Hinata’s party right before finals week and—

“I can handle being ignored by anyone else, feels like I’m used to it sometimes. But—” A pause followed by an audible gulp that doesn’t come from Atsumu. “But it hurts when _you_ ignore me.”

The words submerge Atsumu underwater, mind full of static. His heart beats erratically in his ribcage, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. A moment of silence passes, one that echoes into the night sky. Atsumu can hear the electricity running through the shitty lighting infrastructure of the room, clearly a fire haphazard.

Bokuto is patient, doesn’t press, even as Atsumu looks blankly at a spot behind Bokuto’s head.

Atsumu finally licks his chapped lips, tongue obeying him momentarily. “If ya wanna forget what happened at Shoyo’s party, that’s okay.” Atsumu’s too annoyed with the heat to beat around the bush. “Just gimme the summer n’ things can go back’ta normal. Is that okay?” It’s not okay, not by a long shot, but Atsumu really needs to salvage his most cherished friendship after his useless romantic feelings fucked everything up.

What he doesn’t expect is the clear, boisterous words that Bokuto announces next:

“That’s not it at all!”

Atsumu frowns, attention moving away from his fingers pressed against the glue of the lint roller to the beautiful dark grey eyes set ablaze. Atsumu would gasp if he currently had any control over his body.

Bokuto moves closer—Atsumu doesn’t think it’s possible but Bokuto’s always proving him wrong anyway—placing his arms at either side of Atsumu’s body, biceps flexing thanks to the sleeveless, blue Kindai University shirt he’s wearing. He’s also sweating from the heat and Atsumu swallows the attraction building in his throat; Atsumu truly has no self-preservation.

“You’re one of the smartest people I know, Tsum-tsum!” Bokuto yells, despite their close proximity and it has Atsumu wincing. “So then why can’t you see it?”

Atsumu’s eyebrows furrow, mouth pinching downward. “See what?”

Bokuto’s doesn’t look as exhausted anymore, his eyes now full of something else that hadn’t been present when he’d tapped Atsumu’s shoulder a few minutes ago. Bokuto beams at him brighter than the sun, effectively shutting Atsumu’s brain down when their lips meet.

Atsumu’s ears pick up on his own muffled yelp before the static fills his brain again, Bokuto angling their heads to deepen the kiss. His brusque, calloused volleyball hands come to rest on Atsumu’s cheeks. Atsumu’s own hands move on their own accord, fisting at the fabric of Bokuto’s thin shirt.

“See that I like you, too,” Bokuto smiles against his lips, breaths mingling as he rests his forehead on Atsumu’s. A heartbeat transpires before Bokuto tenses, Atsumu’s eyes flying open to see what’s made him freeze up.

Bokuto’s frowning, but his dark eyes peering down at Atsumu’s swollen lips. “I mean, that’s what Akaashi thinks. That you like me? But I know I like you!” Their eyes meet, the burning sensation of their skin meeting running laps throughout Atsumu’s body. “Do you like me?”

He could say he hopes his laugh doesn’t send Bokuto into another fit of anxiety, but Atsumu’s too ecstatic to care. He’s a horrible person, but he’s known that since elementary school, courtesy of Osamu. Atsumu’s so happy, he doesn’t notice the tears that fall from the edges of his eyes. Curse his tear glands.

“Tsum-tsum?”

“Ah, yes. Sorry.” Atsumu grins. “Whaddya think, Bo?”

Bokuto frowns, increasing the space between them but Atsumu doesn’t give him the chance.

They kiss until the early morning, laundry long forgotten, before they go back to Atsumu’s empty room with the air conditioning at full blast and sleep well into the afternoon. Atsumu thinks the summer heat isn’t so bad with Bokuto’s soft head tucked underneath his chin.

When he gets the text, Osamu doesn’t really expect international roaming to kick in, so he promptly chokes on a tapioca ball at his alert sound. Pulling out his phone from his pocket, he attempts another sip at the milk tea to clear his throat.

_Secured the himbo <3_

Osamu chokes again.

Damn, he owes Akaashi Keiji dinner.


End file.
